


Moving Mountains

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Necrophilia, Other, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 15:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: Cersei blows up the Sept of Baelor then rides Ser Strong’s dick while missing Jaime. What it says on the tin.





	Moving Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> I’m more confident in other narrator voices but this fic came to me in a strange burst of motivation.

The Sept was gone. She’d done it. Her enemies, or at least a large portion of them, were gone. There was still the problem of Daenerys Targaryen and the surviving Starks, but she was safer now than she had been in a long time. It had been too long since she felt something other than grief or betrayal.

Ser Strong trailed after her, silent as ever. Did he feel joy at their victory? He was more a tool to be used than a man. Not that living men weren’t much the same. He would need to be strong for her. 

A glass of wine awaited her. Qyburn had done well. She downed it with the easy confidence granted by several previous cups. How she longed to see Jaime again. He could have taken her as they watched the flames. It did not suit her to go unsated.

“Come Ser Strong. Let me see how you’ll serve your queen.”

Cersei approached the knight and began to remove his armor. It was much the same as Jaime’s, except built for a larger man. Ser Strong seemed to understand her command and aided her as best he could.

The flesh below his casing was mottled, ranging in color from jaundice like yellows, bright splotchy red, to the deep purple of bruises. His build did not disappoint, his chest and shoulders just as wide as they appeared in armor, and his legs massive trunks, strong enough to carry such a weight. Stitches and scars ran along his body, largely healed. He was a wonder to behold, full of more dark terror than any story of the Stranger had ever conjured. She did not fear the septons’ stories. But Ser Strong was flesh before her, with strength enough to snuff the breath from her throat. 

Cersei circled the knight, appraising the thick muscles of his back and shoulders. He was enormous, a good several heads taller than her. Ser Strong remained at rest, waiting for her command. She laid a hand on his back. There was nothing for her to fear. This was her creature.

Ser Strong was, as his name led her to hope, well endowed. He had a similar tilt to his cock as Jaime, which had given her pause at first. Not merely in the overall direction of its turn, but in the points of his length it curved at. It was much as if someone had attempted a larger reproduction. Had Qyburn...?

“Unlace my gown.”

Ser Strong obeyed. The first Robert she bedded had much the same romance to him, if not less. Perhaps Ser Strong’s girth and resemblance to Jaime was even preferable. He wouldn’t be the first substitute for Jaime she’d lain with either. Lancel has been a sorry lay, but she had a properly built man this time. 

Cersei kept her garment on overall, but she was now more free to breathe and move as she saw fit.

“Take to your queen’s bed. Face up.”

Ser Strong did precisely that and no more. It was unclear if he had the ability to become erect, but based on his size it likely wouldn’t matter, nor did she care if he enjoyed it. She ought to be celebrating her victory with Jaime, but instead she was settling a morbid curiosity about what forms of endurance her new champion had to offer. 

Cersei ran her hands across the front of her bodice, imagining Jaime as he had been with both his hands, strong and unconquerable. When the brief tease of a touch rendered her nipples hard, the wine accelerating her state of arousal. She was not yet ready to mount her new stallion of a lover, so she lifted her skirts to mount the man’s vast left thigh. 

He was cold, no pleasure to rub against as Jaime had been, so instead she reached between her legs to slowly rub the mound of her clitoris. Her breath hitched, bosom heaved, and all her normal tricks that drew a man to action, but Ser Strong remained unmoved and flaccid. Cersei began to tease down towards the opening between her labia, massaging the sensitive flesh there. It would hurt to take him dry as she was, but perhaps that was part of the joy of it. If she were on her moonblood she could have ridden him plenty wet.

Cersei took Ser Strong’s manhood into her free left hand, and stroked at it. There was no change in him. She would have to make do.

She began the slow process of mounting his cock, first easing herself into the tip. It hurt the walls of her interior at first, and it felt as if there was a tight ring within her being pressed wider.

She remembered the first messy time with Jaime had felt much that way. They had been so young and naive then, still dreaming the two of them could wed as the Targaryens did.

Cersei slid herself further down Ser Strong’s length, rocking in place when the pressure became too much. His soft state made it require her to squeeze harder than she normally would have to keep him from sliding out, but she had made her way down to the base of his cock. Each bit of flesh had spread her wider than she had gone in a longtime. It ached, but in a sweet way that spread from the depth of her womb to the arches of her feet. 

She had lain with Jaime when she was still tender from the birth of Joffrey. That was the closest feeling she could draw forth to describe the width Ser Strong required of her. She ought to have fastened him around the base to force his erection, but it was too late for that now.

Cersei gripped his broad waist and repeatedly worked him so that his head pressed against the sensitive spot of her internal wall. Perhaps if she rode him hard enough her bladder would give loose. She doubted Ser Strong would complain of that. Her stony lover had followed her instructions to the letter, but had remained staring above the bed with his strange yellow eyes.

Her first climax came quicker than she liked. She meant to hold out, to dream of Jaime coming back to her, tender apologies on his lips and a sword in his hand. She refused to dismount from her champion. Her second came in the throes of the first, her voice cracking as she let out an unexpected moan.

She continued to ride him, each orgasm weaker than the last. Her legs and back dripped with sweat. She had been through all the ugliness of births and bedding, a rotting bulwark of a man would do little to deter her. The mixture of wine and sex left her feeling muggy and spent as she finally pulled off him.

She was too weary to armor Ser Strong so she would send for Qyburn. There was no warmth in the night to be had with a walking corpse.


End file.
